Page 154 of Betrayal and Vows

“Yes.” I stare into the flames, the memories surfacing before I can stop them. "When I was eleven, they sent Dmitri and me out into the wilderness. A group of us."

She lifts her head, her eyes searching mine. "Sent you out? What do you mean?"

"For a week," I say, my tone matter-of-fact. "No food. No shelter. Just a knife and whatever we could find. It was part of the training."

Her eyes widen, horrified. "Alone? At eleven?"

"Yes." My jaw tightens. "Only the strong survive."

She sits up fully now, her hand gripping my arm. "Anton, that’s—that’s insane. You were children."

I shrug, trying to downplay it, but the memory claws at me. "It’s how they weed out the weak. Dmitri and I… we made it. Others didn’t."

Her voice trembles. "What do you mean, others didn’t?"

I don’t want to tell her this. I don’t want her to know the darkness I’ve seen, the things I’ve done. But she asked. And I can’t lie to her. Not anymore.

"There were five of us," I say quietly. "Dmitri, me, and three others. By the third day, one of them was gone. He tried to steal our food. We fought. He didn’t make it."

She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "You—you killed him?"

"No," I say quickly, though the truth isn’t much better. "He got lost. Fell into a ravine. We didn’t go after him."

Her eyes fill with tears. "Anton…"

"By the fifth day, another one was sick. Fever. Couldn’t keep anything down. Dmitri tried to help him, but…" I trail off, the image of the boy’s pale, lifeless face flashing in my mind. "He didn’t make it either."

She’s crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. I reach for her, pulling her into my chest. She doesn’t resist, but her body shakes with sobs.

"The last one," I continue, my voice barely audible, "he tried to leave. Said he couldn’t do it. Said he was going back. But they don’t let you quit. Not ever."

"What happened to him?" she whispers, her voice trembling.

"He didn’t make it either," I say simply. "When we got back, they told us he was weak. That he didn’t deserve to survive."

She pulls away, her eyes searching mine. "And you believed them?"

For a long moment, I don't answer. The crackling fire fills the silence between us. Finally, I shake my head. "I didn't havea choice. Survival isn't about right or wrong. It's about doing whatever it takes to live."

Her fingers trace the scars on my knuckles, reminders of fights I've long since forgotten. "You were just a child," she whispers, her voice breaking. "You shouldn't have had to live like that."

"It made me who I am," I say, though the words feel hollow. "Stronger. Tougher. Ready for anything."

"But at what cost?" she asks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What did it take from you?"

"Everything," I admit, my voice barely audible. "It took everything."

She leans into me again, her warmth seeping through the cold night air. "You're more than just survival, Anton. You're more than the violence and the darkness they forced on you."

I want to believe her. I do. But the memories are too vivid, the scars too deep. "Maybe," I say, staring into the flames. "But I don't know how to be anything else."

"You already are," she insists, her hand resting over my heart. "You're kind and loyal and loving. You're my Anton."

Her words pierce through the armor I've built around myself. For a moment, I allow myself to feel the truth in them. To believe that maybe, just maybe, there's more to me than the killer that was created.

"We should get some sleep," I say finally, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Tomorrow will be just as hard."

She nods, reluctantly pulling away. She lays down on the makeshift bed.